Shirley The Vampire Slayer
by NovaAlbion
Summary: A true believer of the Buffy stories comes to La Push/Forks looking for vampires.
1. Chapter 1

Shirley the Vampire Slayer

This story is intended to be fan fiction in the "Twilight Saga" universe of Stephenie Meyer. The characters are characters in her works and are owned by her. Some characters, from the movie and TV series "Buffy the Vampire Slayer", referred to but not seen belong to Joss Whedon. All characters are fictional and do not represent any real persons. All locations, except the for the Call and Uley/Young homes are real locations in La Push and Forks Washington but may be different than described.

Chapter 1 - The Hunt Begins (Mid-February 2006)

As I stepped out of my old Ford van, it continued to knock and shake like a wet wolf. Gust driven rain spattered on my face. I stretched and groaned a bit as muscles and tendons, little used for four hundred miles, protested their return to activity. A wave of popping rippled along my spine as I placed my palms flat upon the wet asphalt.

"A wet werewolf," I thought. I felt a slight, but unconscious, smile alter my usually somber face. Did it reflect my own appreciation for my wit? Or was it just the instinctive response of a fit body, once again in motion? Or was it a sense of well being, of destiny as I start my life's work?

"Well, I'm done with training. It's time to do!" I turned and looked at the sign. "Quileute Oceanside Resort," I read. "Welcome to La Push!"

The door bell tinkled as I pushed my way into the office. For a moment, I made futile swipes to rid the long, hooded coat of its dripping burden. An older woman of undetermined age came from the back office and smiled.

"How can I help you?"

"I'd like to get a cabin for a night or two."

"I think that that can be arranged." She smiled at me.

As I registered I wondered if the other woman was a member of the tribe. "Beverly", as the name tag displayed, didn't seem to be much of an Indian name. As a matter of fact, her face wasn't round and full fleshed at all, as I had expected of Native American women past their youthful beauty. Beverly's face, while not exactly narrow, was lacking the high broad cheek bones I expected. My face, bronzed from the San Diego sun, was darker than Beverly's. Only deep dark eyes and the single salt-and-pepper braid matched my TV fed expectations.

"Where's a good place to eat?"

"River's Edge is closed for the season. There's Lonesome Creek. You can pick up a few things. Your cabin has a kitchenette."

"Any other options?"

"Shoot, the nearest McDonalds is in Port Angeles. Even though it's the off season, you might able to find something open in Forks."

"Okay," I hesitated. "I might as well start," I thought.

"Say, I am somewhat of an anthropologist. Is there someone around that I can talk to? I'm interested in tribal legends, customs and things like that. But I'm also interested in daily life, things like daily routines and things that are important to individuals today."

"There's some drummin' and singin' at the tribal school tomorrow evening. Stop by the office tomorrow and I'll get the time for you. Otherwise, you could try Old Quil or Billy Black. They know more of the legends than I do. Willy Penn knows more about the old songs than anyone, dances too. But knowing Willy, what he doesn't know, he'll make up for you."

"Hey, thanks." I pocketed the key, nodded to acknowledge the pointed finger and headed back out into the whipping rain.

It took me a little while to get moved into the cabin. Besides miscellaneous underwear, brush and pajamas, I had to bring in and deploy my special kit. The garlic strung over each door and window was dutifully sniffed and found to still be potent. Crucifixes, in silver, pewter and wood, were set upright on stands in several strategic places. Stakes, actually sharpened, fourteen inch, solid oak, 5/8ths inch dowel, were carefully scattered so as to be readily at hand - no matter what. Last of all, I held my squirt gun up to the light. The small bubble of air, seen through the yellow transparent plastic, floated at the very top of the holy water was no larger than it was this morning before I started this last leg of my journey. I set it on the nightstand, grip toward the bed and muzzle toward the door.

While I had left my laptop and most of my books locked in the van, at the bottom of my kit was a broken backed three-ring binder. This I pulled on to the table into the circle of lamp light and began, again, to study my enemy.

"Rousseau was right," I thought, flipping through the pages. "Nothing is quite as well documented as vampires."

My research had taken me to the Bancroft Library in Berkeley. There, I had disinterred gold rush era copies of, among other Native American legends, Quileute creation stories. These stories inextricably linked to Quileutes to their "cold ones", their "blood drinkers", that is, vampires. I was excited. I was confused. The Quileute legends seemed to show some type of ancestral linkage with regard to vampirism.

"Oh, well," I thought. "There are a lot of blanks to fill in. That's why I came here, to ferret out their secrets."

A slight frown shaped my face. Once more I regretted not being able to locate a hellmouth and having to search out vampires. Joss had been remarkably tight-lipped about the facts that were the basis of his particular dramatization. The restraining order didn't help. I also regretted not having a watcher and at least one semi-competent assistant to do some of the leg work. My few friends just laughed when I offered them the job, and then eventually grew quite distant. One or two had suggested that I seriously needed help, seriously. And they weren't referring to internet sleuthing or research in musty Latin texts either.

I sighed, "WWBD?" What Would Buffy Do? I stood and stretched again. It was time to go.

In the mirror, I noticed the large spot left by special sauce on my blouse. It had been there for two hundred miles and too many hours. I unbuttoned my blouse and threw it on the bed. I didn't need the unseen reflection to know that I displayed a hard body, a very hard body. It was, while not exactly slender, almost fat free. Small breasts, sharply defined muscles in the neck, chest and arm, ripples where most women display softer contours were evidence of hard work. The clean white turtleneck slid on with the grace of a dancer, a gymnast, a fencer - all of which were true. My jeans and boots were clean enough for the hunt.

In my coat pockets, I checked the two small squirt guns, one for each side. Dowels slid easily from their holsters, one under each arm and one in the right sleeve, to be ejected into my grasp with a shake of the wrist. I suspected that Homeland Security would not be amused. I wasn't either.

Picking the narrow chain off my neck, I lifted my mother's cross of tarnished silver from beneath my blouse and let it settle on my chest. Jesus always looked so sad. Pulling out the neck of the turtleneck, I smeared just a dab of Eau du Garlic up and down on each side of my throat, on the skin over my arteries and veins. I rubbed it in, washed my hands and tried to smell myself.

"Either it's not too bad, or you've gotten used to the smell. And you are one crazy dudette, talking to your self!"

I swung my coat over my shoulders, picked up a small spiral bound notebook and departed on the hunt, for food among other things.


	2. Chapter 2

Shirley the Vampire Slayer

Chapter 2 - The Outing of Embry Call

Rain no longer fell but the gusty air was heavy with freezing wet as I pushed open the door of the Lonesome Creek store. Besides the ever present Washington Lotto and cigarettes behind the counter, there was beer and bait, Twinkies and Doritos as well as bread, milk and peanut butter. A few forlorn heart shaped candies and valentine's cards with mismatched envelopes were tucked behind a scrap of card board reading "Half Price". The frozen drink dispenser and soft drink fountain stood near the single dark green plastic picnic table.

Three boys sprawled about, heads brushing against racks of corn chips, legs tangled beneath the table and intruding in the aisle. Their bodies were nonchalant as they engaged in casual banter but their eyes kept careful track of four young women clustered in the back.

"Fourteen or fifteen," I guessed. The boys were big but there was a youthful softness in their faces.

"Hey, guys," I said using my "chipper" voice. "How's things going?"

Their eyes turned and glanced over me. They were wary, but were neither sullen nor afraid. The question, "Who is this strange lady?" was painted across their faces.

Only one responded. "Okay."

"I'm a sociologist from the University of California. I'd like to talk to you for a few minutes, if you don't mind. In fact, would you like me to get you a snack for when we're talking?"

The offer of free food brought smiles and a degree of enthusiasm that had been absent during the first part of my spiel. While the boys jostled at the counter, I fixed a hot dog and got a hot cocoa.

At first my questions were general in nature, names, phone numbers and ages, how they spent their time. I let them see that I was serious by taking detailed notes. Then I tried to find out how familiar they were with their tribal legends. They weren't. Quickly, I moved on to the core of the discussion.

I pulled out my "Questionnaire" and read, "Has anyone of your family, friends, acquaintances or adults that you have known, such as parents, teachers or others, recently had a sudden change of behavior? By this I mean, missing school or work, sleeping during the day and staying up all night, abandoning friends and running with a new group or gang, dropping customary favored activities and adopting new, possibly strange, interests and activities, unexpectedly acquiring new skills, speed or strength or other surprising changes in their bodily appearance, shape or abilities."

The boys glanced at each other. For a second, I thought that I had run into a code of silence, us against outsiders. However, the laughing girls passed by us on the way to the cashier. As their eyes followed them, the youngest, Chris, said, "Embry."

"Who?"

Unable to meet the glares from the other two boys, Chris' eyes dropped to the table. With a mixture of embarrassment and defiance he mumbled, "Embry Call."

"Who? Embry Call?"

"Yeah." Defensively, he looked at the other boys. "Come on, guys! You know he hasn't been on his dirt bike, or to school, in a month. Jake's pissed that he's hangin' out with Sam and he's grown - what, six inches - since the first of the year. Sail, you are the one that told me about the fever he was running the last day he was at school."

Brad caught my eye. "Hey. My dad's said that he's seen Embry coming in every morning this week when he was going to the boat. That's at five, five-thirty. Yet, when ever I go to his house, his mom says that he's asleep."

Other than the tinkling of the door bell as the girls left the store, there was silence.

"Who is this Sam?"

"Sam Uley. He is one scary dude. So are Jared and Paul. They've gotten huge!"

"What do you mean?"

"All of them are over six foot now. Embry has shot up at least six inches since Christmas."

"Well, he's shorter now that he's shaved his head," Chris interjected. "At least a little bit."

"Where can I find them?"

"Emily and Sam have a place out on River Drive, past the harbor. Jared and Paul usually hang out there too."

With the help of a map and a phone book, they gave me directions to Embry's and Sam's homes. When I left the store, they were trying to find out which of them could stuff the most cupcakes into their mouth. I was apparently the chief sponsor for the contest. I think Brad had the lead.

Dark came early this far north, not that the day had been all that bright. The wet streets were intermittently lit by tree enshrouded street lights and a couple of illuminated signs but were mostly tunnels of dark. The Call's house was dark as well. In the gloom, I walked up to the small house along a short driveway. The lush grass hump was dark against the white gravel of the tire tracks. At the side, by the kitchen door, the grass strip withered down to meet an oil spot. I turned on my flashlight and looked into the window. The kitchen had a lived-in air that had me puzzled. On the table, I saw a bowl, a box of cereal laying on its side and an open carton of milk. There was no telling how long it had been there.

On the way back to my van, I noted that the yard was overgrown with an air of neglect. I tried not to read too much into it. It was what you would expect if working parents had a typical teenage boy take the responsibility for maintaining the yard.

Sam's place was also small but soft golden light flowed around the open curtains and illuminated patches of the tidy yard. Even from across the street I could tell that the tiny place was filled with people. With my binoculars, I could pick out details of the curtains. I could also tell that all the guys were huge. I finally saw the young woman, Emily I presumed. She appeared to be petite against the giants in the room. I couldn't get a good count as my view was limited and there was constant motion.

There was a battered Honda parked next to the kitchen door and no other cars parked on the street. "Well, vampires really didn't need cars to get around," I muttered.

I was taken by surprise when the front door opened. A bare-chested giant stood silhouetted in the doorway. Even though the van was parked in the dark, I slumped down until only my eyes were above the door. It looked like he was staring right at me.

I held still. My heart pounded. I held my breath - but I wasn't aware of it until I heard my own gasps. As my lungs and heart slowly calmed, he stared for a few moments more.

When he stepped onto the front porch and closed the door, my dazzled eyes could barely make out any movement. But I think I saw him trot into the woods on the far side of the house. He did not return.

Later, as I was driving back to my room at the resort, I found myself with a slight smile and humming tunelessly, the way I do when I am content. I had found a coven of vampires.


	3. Chapter 3

Shirley the Vampire Slayer

Chapter 3 - Hunting Embry

It was way too early when the phone rang. "Thanks," came out as a gruff croak. My body didn't want to, but I made my feet go to the floor and began getting ready for the day. As I started with routine movements, my mind woke to the fact that this was the day. In moments I was making tiny, little dancing steps across the room as I went from one task to another. It was hard to stand in one spot while I washed or when I brushed my hair. Today, I would become a slayer. Today, I would destroy my first vampire. Today, I will kill Embry Call.

My headlight showed a fine wind-driven mist as I slowly navigated through the dark, deserted streets of La Push. I parked under an overhanging pine two houses down from the Call's place. The house was dark and quiet. A beat-up Dodge pickup huddled next to the kitchen stoop.

"WWBD?" I asked myself. She wasn't big on subtlety. Since I didn't know where Embry was, I'll let him come to me. I walked through the wet grass and sat down on the front porch.

An hour later my butt was cold and sore from the damp concrete. Every exposed piece of flesh was frozen, besides a few pieces that weren't exposed. A radio went on in the back of the house. When I stood to stretch my tightened muscles, I peeked through the window. A faint light trickled down the hall from the back. Even though it was a hour until sunrise, it was still time to leave.

As I walked back to the van, two tall, bare-chested young men walked out of the dark. In spite of the cold, one wore only cut-off jeans and a pair of sneakers. It was hard to tell the color, but the other wore dark sweat pants, a right shoe and a flip-flop. Both had the hard sculpted bodies that professional body builders strive for but never attain. Although clean shaven, their heads were covered with dark stubble. While they had high cheek bones and dark eyes, their faces had hard, angular planes that were surprising for such young boys. As I approached, I could feel on my face heat from their bodies as if I was standing next to a patio heater. These vampires have recently fed. I could tell.

Flip-flop gave me a cock-eyed grin and said, "Hi!"

"Hi." I was within striking range. "I'm looking for Embry Call."

Flip-flop's grin grew bigger. "You've found me."

I let my stake fall into my palm. I struck deep and turned to take on the other ... and found myself on my back staring up at Flip-flop. He was holding his side. Already blood was pouring between his fingers. He was shaking with shock.

"What in the hell did you do that for?" he shouted.

I was dazed and confused. He didn't disintegrate. Does it have to be in the heart? Meanwhile, the other vampire, Sneakers, was on his knees -- laughing? Sneakers slowly toppled to his side, incapacitated by large whooping guffaws.

Flip-flop shakes and vibrates like -- well, my van. With a gigantic rip Flip-flop explodes into a huge ball of fur leaving shreds of dark cloth falling from the air. A pulsating growl reverberated out of a long, tooth filled muzzle. I got a dental assistant's view of teeth, tongue and tonsils, along with hot saliva dripped on my neck and cheek and the unmistakable scent of pepperoni (??) breath. This gave new meaning to the term "woofer".

"Embry, I guess that this means that you are not a vampire?"

Sneakers had quieted a bit, but, when he heard me, he went to his stomach howling and pounding on the street. Tears streaked his face.

My stake was still in my hand. My mind was saying, "Right there in the neck. Take your second shot!" But my body, especially my arm, wasn't having any part of it. "We're staying right where we're at," reported my fingers to our brain.

I think the growling quieted before my hearing loss was permanent. Sneakers got up and shoved Embry off me.

"Go have Sam check you over." He glanced at my stake. "It looks like she got about four inches into you." The creature swung his massive head back at me and growled again. I stayed very still.

"Come on Embry, get out of here!"

Embry turned and, from the brief glance that I got, loped off into the dark.

Sneakers eyes followed him for a moment. Then he stood over me and offered me a massive hand. When I took it, he lifted me to my feet. I was still woozy and confused.

"What was that?"

Sneakers ignored my question. He took the stake from my loose grip and inspected it. "Mmmm. From the blood stains, I think you only got three inches into him." He glanced at me. "Don't worry about Embry. He'll be alright."

"What was that?" I asked again.

"Not a vampire, that's for sure." Disgust permeated his voice. He flipped the stake into the undergrowth.

He grabbed my wrist and, in spite of my futile resistance, dragged me toward the house. Flip-flop, what ever he was, may not have been a vampire, but Sneakers surely was. Super strength; I am strong, I am trained. I couldn't move him or keep him from moving me. Super speed; He blocked some of my best strikes. Super endurance; I did make a few strikes that he ignored rather than blocked. They were solid hits on cripple and kill points that should have felled a tree. No effect. As we reached Embry's kitchen door, Sneakers shifted his attention to the door.

With my free hand, I pulled a squirt gun from my coat pocket. As usual, the first pump resulted in a rather anemic stream of holy water. But the second, third, fourth and fifth pumps gave fine hard jets against his side. When Sneakers finished giving the door a couple of sharp raps, he took my squirt gun and tossed it on the roof.

"Crazy bitch!"

I was dumbfounded! I expected Sneakers to be nothing but a bubbling mess to be hosed off of the porch. At the very least, I expected his side and back to be a mass of painful welts, burns and blisters that would distract him enough for me to get out another stake and stab him. Instead, he just stood there dripping. I needed to think.

"Come in," said a soft female voice. Sneakers pushed his way into the kitchen, into light and warmth.

"Oh, hello Jared. Where's Embry?" asked a matronly woman with a single loose braid, flecked with grey. She tied the belt of her housecoat as she looked me over.

"He'll be along in a little while." Jared smiled. "He ran into a twig and got poked. He needs to lick his wounds for a couple of minutes."

"Sometimes, you guys play too rough."

"Yeah, sometimes I think we do. Can I use the phone?"

"Sure, help yourself."

Since my wrist went with him, I did too. As my wrist slowly went numb, I couldn't help notice how hot his hand was. And when we stopped, how warm his body was, in spite of being practically naked while out in the cold.

Jared picked up the receiver and dialed with one hand. "Sam, this is Jared ... Yeah, for some reason she mistook Embry for one of the Cullens up in Forks. … That's right, a wooden stake." He gave me a look of pity mixed with rolling eyes. "I'll find out." He covered the mouth piece with a massive mitt. "Where are you staying?"

I answered, "The Resort" before I could bite my tongue.

"The Resort. ... Okay, I'll meet you there." He hung up.

"Are you going to answer my questions?"

"Mrs. Call, may I use one of Embry's t-shirts?"

"Answer my questions! What was that thing out there? That hairy beast with the teeth?"

"Sure, sure." She handed him a dish towel. "I'll get you one."

"What is Embry Call? What are you?"

I guess not answering was an answer of a sort.


	4. Chapter 4

Shirley the Vampire Slayer

Chapter 4 - Sam

The sky was beginning to lighten as Sneakers drew me to my van, opened the passenger side and shoved me across to the driver's seat.

"Okay, let's head back to The Resort," he said while brushing stale cheese puffs off the passenger seat. "We're meeting Sam there."

"Sam who?"

"Sam Uley."

"Who's he and why should I want meet him?

"I guess you could call him the head of the Protectors. I'm not sure, but I think that you're packing up, checking out and leaving the reservation."

"You can't make me do that!"

He looked at me with dark baleful eyes. "I think you'll find that we can."

It was quiet during the short drive. I wasn't sulking or sullen. I was just having the think and to plan. Yes, I was thinking. I was planning. I was terrified.

The mustard Honda had an entire door in red primer as well as sundry other spots. The left tail light was covered in red cellophane and tape. It was parked in the front of my cabin. Another of these muscular giants, with a black stubble head and hard, angular plains on his face, stood blocking my door. He was a bit older than the Sneakers and Flip-flop, definitely a man, not a boy. He seemed to be busy bulging out of a blue denim work shirt. It was disgusting in an attractive sort of way. Or was that attractive in a disgusting sort of way?

Sam took my key and unlocked the door. After nudging the door open with his boot, he stuck his head in and looked around. Pulling his head back he said, "Sit her at the table, Jared. Don't let her stab you too." They both grinned. I didn't see what was so damned funny. I was more than just a tad disgruntled.

As I sat down, I heard the door to my van open and a few moments later close. Sam brought in my purse. Sitting across the small table from me, he dug out my wallet and looked at my driver's license.

"What is your name?"

"Shirley Turner."

He glanced at Sneakers who was standing behind me. "That matches the resort register and her license." Turning his attention back to me, he said, "And what is your business here in La Push?"

I weighed my options. It might take a while to check the graduate student story. Cal would be quick to deny my "student" status and they might bring up that bogus hate crime charge where I tried to save them from that witch. My best bet was to keep quiet.

"That is personal and private," I replied after a brief pause.

Sam took my wallet and went over to the bed. When he saw the squirt gun on the night stand, he gave me a funny look. He sat on the bed and picked up the phone. After a moment he said, "Beverly, can you put me through to the Chief Swan? Thanks, I'll wait."

"Chief Swan, this is Sam Uley. … Fine, fine. We've run into a little problem down here and I was wondering if you could run a name and a VIN for us. … Sure, sure." I hadn't seen him bring in my van's registration. He read the VIN and plate numbers from the registration and my name, license number and date of birth from my license.

Why would a Quileute chief be looking up my VIN number or "running" my name? Shouldn't they be concerned about "cold ones" and monsters like that Embry guy? I was confused.

"No, I'll wait. … Mmmm, restraining order? Any details? … Okay. … Dropped? Did it say why? … Mmmm. … What's her description? … Identifiable marks? … Okay. … No thanks, I think we can handle it down here. … Okay, I'll let you know. … Yeah, thanks. We appreciate your help. … Hey, no problem. Any time you need us. … Yeah, I'll talk to you later. Yeah, bye."

"Well Jared, no outstanding warrants." Sam turned back to me. "But you, Miss, do have a decidedly checkered past."

"Jared, put all of Miss Turner's things in her van. I am going to help her check out." His grip was just as hot and no weaker than Sneakers. He kept my purse and wallet in his other hand.

"Miss Turner," he said as he dragged to the resort office. "You have you hurt a member of our tribe. You could end up spending more than a year in a federal penitentiary. Considering what we have found in your room, and your past record, you could spend much longer than that in an institution for the mentally ill. We can make the case necessary for involuntary commitment that you are a danger to others. Do you understand?"

I couldn't look him in the face, it was happening again. "Yes," I whispered.

"We don't want any problems. Check out, get into your van, and leave the reservation. Don't stop until you do leave. And don't come back. We have long memories here. I will follow you until you cross the reservation border. It would be best if you didn't stop until you get to Forks."

The door bell tinkled again. "Beverly, Miss Turner is checking out!" Sam handed my purse to me.

Beverly's knowing look made me look down and shift my feet. A worm of irritation turned to anger. I lifted my head to a determined angle and took a sharp breath. But as my eye lifted to meet Sam's, his steely look squelched my incipient diatribe.

In the oppressive silence, I paid my bill and was escorted back to my van.

"Got everything?"

Jared replied, "Yeah." From the driver's seat I could see the disorganized pile in the back.

"Go home. Get some rest, we patrol again tonight."

"Sure, sure. See you tonight."

By the time I pulled out onto the street, Sam's Honda was a mustard and red smear through my dirty back windows. It began to rain and then rain hard. I don't know when he stopped following me. All I know is that when I passed the "Welcome to Forks" sign, there was no mustard and red behind me. It was still raining.


	5. Chapter 5

Shirley the Vampire Slayer

Chapter 5 - A New Beginning

As I drove through Forks, I kept my eye out for two magic words. I had some hard thinking to do. And it was best done in a place of power where two mystic forces combined. The words were "Wireless" and "Coffee".

The "Work in Progress Coffee & Antique Shop" promised to be my haven. Even the name was encouraging because my crusade certainly was a work-in-progress. After I parked, I opened the back doors to the van and dug out my laptop bag and my binder.

As I entered, I saw that the on-the-way-to-work crowd was thinning out. The antique part of the store was in its own section away from the counter and booths. However, the eating area didn't escape the "antique" themed décor. Before I settled into a booth, I checked for an electrical outlet. I figured that I was going to settle in for a spell of research.

I had several problems. If Embry Call wasn't a vampire, what was he? If he wasn't a vampire, who were the vampires associated with the Quileutes? Jared/Sneakers heard me refer to Embry as not-a-vampire and thought that I had mistaken him for "one of the Cullens up in Forks". Did this mean that the "Cullens" were vampires? At least I had several leads.

Breakfast and coffee came and went. I reviewed my files, both hard copy and on my computer. I borrowed the local phone book and returned it. The only Cullen in it was a doctor with just a phone listing and an address in a medical office building. Well, it can't be him. Even general practitioners saw too much blood. A vampire just couldn't hide their nature. I even did some online research. Boy, did I have that screwed up.

The Quileute's legends said that they were descended from wolves. If Embry had turned into a wolf, he was the biggest wolf that I ever heard of. He was as big as a horse. Of course, my judgment may have been a bit skewed by the fact that he was standing over me, teeth at my throat, dripping hot saliva on me and growling with intent. So La Push was the home of werewolves. While interesting, I put that aside. Oz was a werewolf and it mostly wasn't a problem. I'd tackle that after I finished this vampire thing.

The Cullens were quite the problem. Sneakers said "one of the Cullens". Hence there was more than one. But besides the good doctor, there weren't any indications. No listing in directories, hard copy or online. No newspaper articles online. No accessible property records. Nada, zip, zilch. These people made it a habit to live quietly.

I finally broke down and went with a paid search. Now I was getting somewhere. Apparently there were five living here in town. They all had cell phones, lived at one address and apparently each had a car. They all had excellent credit ratings. I looked up the address and made a quick sketch of the map. It looked simple to find.

The lunch crowd was beginning to filter in. I was beginning to put up my research and close down my computer when beautiful red head glided up to my table.

"Pardon me," she said. "I couldn't help over hearing you talk to yourself. Are you trying to find out about the Cullens? Or locate them?" Her eyes flickered about the shop, almost as if she were afraid. Even those flickers were made with the grace of a hunter.

I was a bit embarrassed. Usually, when I talk to myself, it is in indistinct mutterings that can't be heard more than a few feet away. I replied simply, "Yes."

Leaning low she whispered, "I can tell you everything that you need to know about the Cullens."

"Sit down. We'll eat and talk."

She scanned the shop again. "We can't talk here. We need privacy. I know of a place we can go. We'll do lunch there."

"Okay, just let me load up this stuff into the van."

"By the way," I said. "I'm Shirley Turner." When she didn't respond, I asked, "And you are … ?"

"There'll be enough time to talk later. Let's get out of here." She headed to the front door. Once again, I was struck by the feline grace and feral glances.

I paid my bill and carted my stuff out.

As I turned toward the highway, the woman said, "Go north on 101 to the Sitkum-Solduc Road and turn right. We'll go past the industrial area and make a left. It is about five miles outside of town."

Before I could ask any more questions, we were on a muddy road that wound through dense dripping forest. I had to concentrate on my driving. Finally, the road curved into a small clearing as we came to a dead end. I turned the van so that it was parked facing toward the road. I didn't see any sign of lunch but, frankly, I didn't care. I was too excited.

I grabbed my notebook. "I want to know everything there is to know about the Cullens. But first, what is your name?"

She laughed. "My name is Victoria."

The End


End file.
